


In the Forests of the Night

by atimi (bertee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/atimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John gets dosed with incubus venom and Dean is on the receiving end of his attentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Forests of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for idc_chan for spn_j2_xmas.

"Rough day, sugar?"

The bartender's voice scraped against John's over-alert senses as he swallowed down another welcome gulp of whiskey. "You could say that."

"That bad, huh?" John glanced up to see the bartender looking at him with sympathy. She was attractive enough, tall and red-headed with tan-line on her ring finger and a shirt just the right side of too tight, and if it had been any other evening, he would've been working toward getting drinks on the house and a free meal or two for himself and Dean. As it stood, he didn't have the energy to do anything other than keep drinking when she asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

John smiled mirthlessly into his drink. As friendly as the bartender seemed, he was pretty certain that her openness wouldn't extend to a story about how he'd been doused with venom by a dying incubus a couple of hours earlier, making him fixate with white-hot intensity on the first person he'd laid eyes on.

He was one-hundred-percent certain that the same openness wouldn't last if he told her that the 'first person he'd laid eyes on' had been his own son.

"Just give me another." He pushed his glass over and breathed out as she poured him a generous measure, trying to calm his racing heart and ignore the pulse of fire down his spine which was only growing more painful the longer he was away from the motel.

"On the house," she said with a wink.

John grabbed the glass as soon as she lifted the bottle away, enjoying the controlled burn as he downed another mouthful. His body felt like it was tearing itself apart, his head filling up with insidious whispers about all the things he could do to his son, and despite his efforts to get it out of his system during his cold shower, his dick was still stiff and his fingers itched to grab and squeeze and bruise.

"I'm guessing that's a 'no' on the talking?" the bartender said, smiling. "Well, I'm here if you ever want a break from drowning your sorrows. I'm Mel."

"John," he replied simply. He focused on his drink, knocking back some more in an effort to dull the sensation of the venom burning through him, but his skin prickled in irritation when Mel didn't take the hint and move on.

"You know, I could help take your mind off things," she said with suggestive confidence. "It's not all that busy in here tonight and you look like a guy who could use a little distraction."

John huffed out a laugh. Even after a cold shower, a long jerk-off session, and four large measures of whiskey, he couldn't shake off the venom-induced thoughts about what he wanted to do to Dean, and he doubted the bartender could provide that much of a distraction.

"Look, no offence," he began, not wanting to cut off his source of free whiskey, "but no, thanks."

From the way she pulled back, he knew he hadn't been as tactful as he'd intended but he was too tense to care when she said curtly, "Suit yourself."

The click of her heels was painfully loud as she walked away and John pressed a hand to his temple, trying to block out the pounding in his head. He knew he should've been passed out cold already or at least unable to get it up, but his dick remained painfully hard in his jeans as he swallowed the rest of his whiskey and pushed himself up off the bar stool. His vision was crystal-clear when he scanned the bar for a sign for the bathrooms and he remained steady on his feet as he headed to the men's room, hoping that a little more physical stimulation would be enough to stave off the ache a while longer.

"Hey."

Focused on the painted sign on the far wall, John was taken by surprise by the greeting, and he spun around with the guilty hope that the voice belonged to Dean.

He was hit with an uncomfortable mix of relief and disappointment when his hope proved false and he found himself face to face with a stranger. The kid couldn't have been older than Dean's twenty-four years - hell, John would've been amazed if he was old enough to have gotten into the bar without a fake ID - but he was all smooth, neat lines where Dean was rough edges. His hair was artfully mussed and the rips in his jeans were a result of purposeful design instead of long-time wear, suggesting he was a rich kid slumming it for the night rather than someone who visited bars like this out of necessity.

"Saw you shoot down the bartender," the kid said, looking up at John with a glint in his eyes. "And I noticed you ain't got your boy with you tonight. You lookin' for a different kind of company?"

John restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Of the two of them, Dean was usually the one on the receiving end of propositions from guys in dive bars but ever since Sam had left for Stanford, he'd noticed the increase in a certain kind of attention from people who saw him and Dean together and drew their own conclusions.

"I'm not looking for any kind of company," he said firmly. "Go find someone else to hit on, kid."

He started to move past him but didn't try to hide his exasperation when the kid blocked his path and pressed, "C'mon, man. I saw the guy you picked up two nights ago - I know I'm your type. Anything he did for you, I can do better. Guaranteed."

Ready to tell him to get lost, John hesitated at the last second, still feeling the heat of the venom churning inside him. Although his 'type' wasn't anything like his own son, he had to admit that the kid had a point - his eyes were blue to Dean's green and his features were sharper than Dean's, but they were close enough in height, build and appearance that John felt fresh heat course through him.

"All right," he said on impulse. "One time only."

The kid's eyes brightened in anticipation and he smiled. "Yes, Sir."

It was all too easy to picture the same agreement coming from Dean but John shook off the thought as soon as it arose. Letting himself cling to the belief that fucking the kid would alleviate the symptoms of the venom, he gritted his teeth and closed his hand around the kid's the shoulder.

"Let's go, son."

+++

Dean's head snapped up from his books when John slammed the motel door behind him.

His hair was wet from the shower, and as he sat cross-legged amid the books on the bed, John couldn't help but notice the way his t-shirt and threadbare sweats clung to his damp skin. A pink blush covered his cheeks, presumably from taking advantage of the hot water while John was gone, but John pushed back the thoughts of how Dean would look with that same blush covering the rest of his body, all shower-wet and slippery and new under John's hands.

A painful flare of the venom accompanied the images and John turned his back on Dean to shuck his jacket off and calm himself down. Although he could stop looking at Dean, he couldn't stop Dean from talking - and Jesus, he didn't need to be thinking about how Dean would look with a gag pushed between his lips - and he kicked his boots off as Dean asked, "Did alcohol work?"

"Could've been drinking water for all the good it did," he replied. "Sex can't get rid of it either."

He heard Dean clear his throat. "You tried sex?"

"It's incubus venom, Dean," he said irritably. "Of course I tried sex."

Dean swallowed wetly and John did his best not to picture him swallowing down something else as Dean said, half-joking, "Never thought I'd be this invested in my dad's sex life."

The heat in John's blood boiled over into anger at the flippancy in Dean's voice. "Then you should've stayed out of the way when I got hit," he snapped. "I taught you better than that, Dean."

It didn't make him feel any better to see Dean's expression turn contrite in a heartbeat. "Yes, Sir."

The agreement only reminded John of the kid he'd picked up at the bar and he rubbed his eyes, unable to stop imagining Dean in the kid's place, stripped half-naked in the back of the Impala and riding his dick like a pro. Feeling nauseated and turned on at the same time, he ignored Dean's questioning stare as he headed towards the bathroom. "I need to clean up. Keep reading."

"I-"

He swung the door shut before he could hear what Dean was saying and rested his weight against the sink with a sigh. Despite Dean's efforts, research was useless at this point - Pastor Jim and Dr Robert had both confirmed there was no cure for incubus venom other than giving in to the cravings and fucking it out of his system - but that didn't mean that the solution was acceptable.

Heated and frustrated, John splashed cold water on his face and wiped himself down with a cloth to remove all traces of the kid from the bar. His dick was soft but that didn't seem to stop the steady waves of arousal that rolled through him, and John slammed his fist against the wall in anger, desperate for some outlet for the heat in his chest.

The pain only distracted him for a few seconds and he ran his aching hand through his hair, trying to think of some way to solve this problem before he burned to death from the inside out.

"Sir?"

Dean knocked on the door and John stared at himself in the mirror for a second longer, wishing he had some external proof of the infection to hold up as proof that his current urges weren't his own doing. Despite the unnatural thoughts running through his head, he looked the same as always and he closed his eyes to shut out his reflection as Dean spoke through the door, "I don't think there's a cure for this, Dad. I- I think you need to do what the venom wants."

John opened his eyes. Dean's phrasing was as delicate as it could be but it did nothing to disguise the fact that John's eldest was still offering himself up on a platter to save him.

He swung the door open and watched Dean's eyes go wide and nervous as he asked bluntly, "You know the venom wants me to fuck you?"

Dean's casual smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, you pinning me to the car and sniffing me like a dog kinda gave it away." He bit his lip and nodded. "You got hit with venom and we bonded or imprinted or whatever. I get it, and I get that I need to help out."

"Dean..."

"It's just like when you needed to pop my shoulder back in place or when I needed to stitch you up after that Black Dog last month. We got each other's backs, y'know?"

For all his determination, he looked like the same kid who had tried to convince himself and his four-year-old brother that tetanus shots wouldn't really hurt that much, but this time John couldn't help but remind them both of the stark reality of things. "You'd really spread your legs for your own father?"

Dean flinched at that but regained his composure quickly. "It's the job, right? It's not like I want this any more than you do but we need to find the thing that killed mom and we can't do that when you're poisoned." He shrugged, all fake bravado. "It'll be over quick. Anyway, it's not like it's the first-" He cut himself off and changed tack, "It's not gonna hurt too bad."

John almost wanted to chase Dean's first answer, to find out if Dean's history with men involved a experimental fumble with a kid at school or an encounter with one of the dozens of older guys who'd crossed their path when Dean was a too-pretty teenager, but from the way his dick twitched in his pants at both prospects, he didn't trust himself to react to any new information that night. "You don't know what you're asking me to do."

"I do," Dean countered, looking nervous but stubborn as he squared his shoulders. "I can handle it, Sir."

John raised his eyebrows as something dark and cruel uncoiled inside him. "You can handle it?" He stepped forward and felt a dirty pulse of heat when Dean instinctively stepped back. "Really?"

His voice was low and sarcastic, and as much as John wanted to stop and back off, the rush of the venom kept him moving forward until he had Dean backed against the wall. Dean jumped when his back collided with the wooden paneling by the bed and John couldn't keep from watching the way his lips parted into a pink 'o' of surprise when he moved in closer, trapping him in place.

"Do you know what this'll do to you?" he asked, curling his hand around Dean's hip and holding on tight to stop himself from touching him anywhere else. "Did you read about it?"

He gestured to the books that were scattered on the bed and Dean nodded, still trying to seem in control. "It'll drain me," he said, looking like he expected to be praised or chastised, depending on the answer. "It's some kind of equilibrium deal. You drain some of my energy which stops the venom from killing you and then you stop before you kill me. I did the research - I'm ready."

"You're ready," John echoed, resting his other hand against Dean's neck. His fingers itched to dig in, to haul Dean closer and lick and bite at his lips until they were red and swollen, but he settled for tightening his grip on Dean's hip as he felt his heartbeat pulse all the way down to his fingertips. Dean was still playing the soldier, keeping his back straight and chin raised, but he was shorter without the heavy sole of his boots under his bare feet and John couldn't help but think how breakable he was under his hands.

Marshaling the last of his willpower, he shoved Dean away onto the bed, feeling the searing hiss of even a few feet of separation, and ordered, "Strip down and get on all fours."

Fear flitted across Dean's face but the hesitation was only momentary. He cleared the books and papers off the bed under John's watchful gaze before turning his back and stripping out of his t-shirt, sweats, and boxers with enough military efficiency that John almost didn't notice the way his hands were shaking.

He heard the squeak of the mattress as he moved to lock the door and check the salt-lines, and by the time he'd shed his own clothes, Dean was settled in position in the middle of the bed with his head down, his shoulders tense, and his legs spread. The simmering heat in John's chest built up to a scalding roar and he climbed onto the bed behind Dean in seconds, needing some kind of cooling contact to ease the burn.

Dean shivered when he closed his hands around his ankles and John ran his hands up his legs to rest against his upper thighs, watching the way Dean's skin flushed pink in the wake of his touch. Rationally, he knew he should be disgusted, sickened, anything but turned on to have his hands on his son like this, but his dick was already hardening again and his mind was more interested in the noises Dean would make when he pushed inside him rather than the morality of what he was about to do.

Letting his cock rest between Dean's cheeks, John bit back a groan and fitted his hands to the shape of Dean's hips as he asked, "Did you prep?"

Dean gave a tiny shrug but his pretense of calmness wavered when he said, "I cleaned up but I- the only thing I had was a condom so-"

Too impatient to wait for a stammered explanation, John slid his thumb down over Dean's hole and wet his lips when it slipped inside with relative ease. He crooked and flexed his thumb, testing the stretch of the muscles and the extent of Dean's prep, and smiled bitterly at the sharp gasp that even the slightest touch elicited.

Rubbing his dick against the inside of Dean's thigh, he indulged in thoughts of Dean spreading his legs to work himself open in the bathroom, nothing but spit and a lubed condom to ease the way as he pushed his fingers up inside his ass to get himself ready for his own father. "Jesus..."

All John's willpower was concentrated on stopping himself from pushing inside Dean without warning and he couldn't control the words that came spilling out of his mouth as he fucked his fingers into Dean's hole in blunt, rough strokes, "When did you decide this, Dean? When did you give up on researching and start opening yourself up for me?"

"As soon as you left," Dean said quietly. His head was down but John would've laid odds that his cheeks were red in embarrassment as he admitted, "I wanted to be ready in case you came back."

"In case I came back?" John repeated, slowing down as he continued to work his fingers in and out of Dean's hole. "Or in case I didn't wait for you to volunteer when I got here?"

"Both, okay?" Dean said, a hint of annoyance bleeding through into his voice. "You shoved your hand down my pants as soon as we got out of the woods tonight. Sorry for not trusting your willpower all that much."

John smiled at the sarcasm and couldn't stop himself from reaching around to jerk Dean's half-hard dick with his free hand. He was already painfully hard as he ground against Dean's ass and he found himself wondering if the alternative would have been easier for Dean, if fucking him against his will would've been better than waiting for him to willingly spread for his father.

Just the thought of Dean pinned to the bed, fighting and thrashing and begging, was enough to set the fire in his chest burning even brighter and he moved his hands to rest on Dean's hips as he let his dick nudge against his pink little hole.

Dean jerked beneath him, tremors running through his body, and John licked his lips as he caught Dean's half-hearted joke, "Guess it's too late to pretend I've got a headach-"

His words were cut off by a surprised shout as John pushed inside, forcing the head of his dick in past the ring of muscle and then hauling Dean backwards down his shaft until he was buried balls-deep inside his ass. Dean grabbed at the covers, strung taut with anxiety and trying to catch his breath now that he was stuffed full of cock, and John rocked his hips forward, enjoying the tight clench of Dean's muscles around the length of his dick.

Heated up by the venom, he fucked him with slow thrusts at first, adjusting to the pressure on his dick and the temperature of Dean's body against his own, but it didn't take long for the venom to do its work and for Dean to relax enough to let him pick up speed. Dean's body fit perfectly with his own, from the feel of his skin under John's hands, to the way he canted his ass back into his thrusts, to the hot tightness around his dick, and John didn't have time to give any warning as his orgasm took him by surprise.

He came with a groan, still thrusting deep into Dean's ass, but instead of the usual blissful aftershocks, he felt fresh fire course through his system in the wake of the fleeting high, stealing his breath and leaving him even more bound up in the venom than before.

He could feel his own come coating his dick as he began to move again with experimental caution, but his dick didn't soften at all as he continued to rock forward into Dean's ass. His balls were tight and heavy, like he hadn't come for days, and John dug his fingers into his son's hips as Dean struggled to look over his shoulder at him. "Dad?"

Dean's face was pale from the energy that the venom had already drawn out of him but that didn't do anything to hide the green of his eyes or the bitten-red color of his lips as he turned his head. "Is that it? Did it work?"

More interested in seeing the expression on Dean's face as he was fucked open on his dick, John shook his head and slid in deep just to see the jolt go through Dean's body. Drained, Dean dropped down onto his elbows but didn't have much choice other than to keep his ass in the air as John smoothed his hands over the curve of his ass and said, "No. If we'd done this right after, it would've been enough, but it's been too long." He gritted his teeth against a sharp flare of pain. "It needs more."

He kept a steady pace, watching the thick length of his dick slide in and out of Dean's stretched and reddened hole as his own come started to trickle out and down to the curve of Dean's sac. Curious, John dropped his hand to close it around Dean's dick, and he groaned when the stimulation to his fully-hard cock had Dean clenching around him again. Dean tried to pull away but he only managed to push himself back on John's dick as John jerked him off, enjoying the gasps and moans Dean was failing to stifle.

"I- I don't need a reach-around, Dad," he stammered, sounding strung out and breathless, but John didn't know whether it was the venom or his limited free will which kept his hand wrapped around Dean's cock.

The liquid heat flowed through him faster at the needy little whimper that Dean let out, and John pulled out quickly, unable to think of anything but satisfying his need to see the look on Dean's face when he made noises like that. Dean's shoulders slumped in relief but John grabbed him by the arm before he could relax too much and pulled him up onto his lap as he settled himself hurriedly on the bed.

It hurt every second that he wasn't inside Dean, a blinding, searing pain running from his toes to his skull, and his grip only became rougher and more insistent when Dean put up a half-hearted resistance. "What- Dad, I don't-"

"Shut up," John ordered. The venom burned hotter and hotter inside him as he caught Dean by the back of the neck and pulled him into place astride his thighs.

Dean was slow-moving and clumsy and weakened by the energy loss, but John was filled with renewed arousal rather than fatherly concern when Dean rested his hands on his shoulders and looked at him through his lashes. "Sir-"

Ignoring him, John lined his cock up with Dean's hole and started to ease him down onto it, where the venom insisted he belonged. He was still wet with come and John's dick slid easily up inside him as Dean groaned and let his head fall back. Despite his earlier protests, Dean's dick was still hard, and with sick fascination John watched the way his dick disappeared between Dean's cheeks as Dean worked himself the rest of the way down onto his cock, taking inch after inch without stopping.

He saw Dean bit down on his lip when he was all the way inside him, eyes closed and breath coming fast, and John rolled his hips up with the order, "Ride it, Dean."

Obedience won out over fatigue and Dean started to move without complaint. He spread his knees wider, calculating the best position with the same hurried efficiency he displayed when they were training, and he held onto John's shoulders to keep his balance as he started to fuck himself on his father's dick.

As tired as he was, he set a rapid rhythm and John ran his hands up Dean's thighs as he moved, needing to touch him as much as he could. He stroked his thumbs along Dean's hipbones before sliding his hands around to cup his ass and coax him into a more punishing pace as he leaned up to bite at Dean's neck. Burying his nose against the skin, he breathed in the smell of sweat on top of the cheap shower-gel Dean had used that evening and he pressed his lips to Dean's throat to taste the salt on his skin.

Dean groaned, low and desperate, and John pulled back enough to see the dazed look on his face as his body continued to move almost of its own accord. His bare skin was flushed and sweat-sheened, as though the heat flowing through John was matched by the warmth of Dean's body, and John bucked up, impossibly turned on by the way Dean's eyes went wide and by the helpless little gasp that he let out.

"Please," he begged, digging his fingers into John's shoulders as he struggled to focus, "please..."

He didn't know if Dean was pleading for him to stop or to keep going but there was only one option John was prepared to indulge in right then. He closed his hand around his son's dick in a loose fist but held it steady as he filled the space between them with hushed orders, "C'mon, Dean. Don't quit now."

Ever-compliant now that Sam wasn't around to convince him otherwise, Dean responded with a moan and rode him faster and harder, thrusting up into John's fist as quickly as he could. His dick was hard and heavy in John's hand, precome beading at the slit and smearing down over the head of his cock as he fucked himself on John's hand and dick, and John rolled his hips up in time with his movements, buoyed by the lava of the venom that rushed through him. It felt like their heartbeats were in synch, a fiery thrum of want pulsing through both of them at the same time, and John let himself get swept up in the perfect clench of Dean's muscles around his dick and the sight-smell-sound-touch-taste of Dean's body moving against his own.

Dean's eyes were bright and wet when he lifted his head to look at him and John scraped his teeth along his jaw before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his skin to taste the glow of embarrassment that lit up Dean's cheeks.

"Dad," Dean gasped out, tired and ashamed but still riding John's cock and fucking into his fist like that was all he could do anymore, "Please, I need to come..."

John let the admission linger for a second, tightening his grip on Dean's cock and letting the fire inside him rise up to a deafening roar. Closing his eyes against the blissful burn, he pulled Dean down until his cock filled him up completely, splitting him open around his daddy's dick, and whispered against his throat, "Then come, Dean."

That was all Dean needed. He came with a choked cry, dropping his head down to John's shoulder as he coated John's fist and chest with his release. He shivered when he came, a full body shudder that felt like an earthquake to John's heightened senses, and John couldn't hold back his shout as he followed Dean over the edge.

The heat poured out of him in a crashing wave, filling Dean with a thick, hot load of come, and John gasped as he felt the venom flood away, leaving only embers in its wake. He let his body get carried by the tide, still thrusting up into Dean's ass as he groaned at the feel of the high of orgasm mixing with the aching retreat of the incubus infection, and he fought to catch his breath as his senses started to recalibrate now that they were no longer affected by the venom.

Dean sagged in his lap, resting his weight against John's body as he struggled to stay upright, and John cupped his face with clumsy hands to check him over.

Dean's skin was pale and cool to the touch, and if it hadn't been for the way his glassy eyes struggled to focus, John would've thought he was unconscious. His expression was slack, lips parted and eyes ringed with dark circles, and he barely made a sound as John lowered him onto his back and withdrew carefully in a too-late attempt to keep his touches as clinical as possible.

As much as he wanted to stay detached now that the bond was broken and the venom was gone, he knew any pretense of professionalism was useless as he eased his dick out of Dean's ass and watched two loads of his own come start to trickle out of his well-fucked hole.

Dean shifted at the absence of John's dick, and he knew it was taking all Dean had left for him to raise his head and mumble the question, "Is it done? You cured?"

Feeling his nakedness more than ever, John wiped himself down quickly and pulled on his underwear and t-shirt as he nodded. "The venom's out of my system. I need to check that there aren't any after-effects but you're done for the night."

Dean's nod was more of a slump as his head dropped back down to the bed. Knowing that he'd been the one to do this to him, John couldn't bring himself to touch him as he watched Dean's eyes start to close, and so he fell back on the only response he could muster. "At least sleep on the pillow, Dean. I don't want you bitching at me tomorrow because you've got a crick in your neck."

He knew full well that Dean wouldn't complain about his ass being fucked open that night, let alone say a word about something as minor as a crick in his neck, but he was relieved to see him drag himself up the bed to rest his head on the pillow with the slurred response, "Yessir."

Sprawled naked on the bed, Dean didn't move another muscle and John walked around to the head of the bed to see that he had already succumbed to exhaustion. His cheeks looked hollow and his eyes seemed bruised against the paleness of his face, and John set a plastic cup of holy water on the table beside the bed, just in case sleep wasn't a sufficient remedy. Not wanting to see any more of Dean's body than he already had, he tugged the covers over him and swallowed back the bile that rose up at the sight of his son lying there, sleeping and peaceful and still dripping with John's come.

He felt filthy, like the venom had burned part of him away for good, making him into the kind of sick fuck who molested his own kids, and with one final look at his son, John headed into the bathroom to scrub himself clean and to try to convince himself that he'd only done what was necessary.

+++

John had already started in on the whiskey when Dean woke up the next morning.

His sleep had been patchy at best, brief snatches of rest in between lurid mental replays and long hours of self-justification, and by the time the garbage trucks had clattered past on the road outside, he'd turned to alcohol. It wasn't much - they were setting out again that morning and John knew better than to risk a DUI - but he'd hoped that a few sips of whiskey would be enough to dull the edges of the knife in his gut.

The worst thing, the thing that made all his regrets feel hollow and pathetic, was that it had been worth it. When it came down to doing right by his son or staying alive to hunt down Mary's killer, vengeance had won out and if he had to do it all over again, John couldn't pretend that he'd do anything different.

In bed, Dean started to stir and John finished off the last few drops of whiskey as he watched Dean blink his eyes open.

He seemed groggy and disoriented as he looked between the pillow under his head to the holy water on the table, and John kept his expression as neutral as possible when Dean's gaze finally traveled across the room to rest on him. Dean shifted a little to lift himself up on his elbows, and John could pinpoint the exact second when he was hit with the messy, aching reminder of what had happened the previous night.

Dean's eyes went wide and John met his gaze, praying that the right words would just come flowing out of his mouth.

That particular prayer always seemed to go unanswered and he wasn't surprised when he came up empty. Dean was still looking at him as the silence thickened between them, uncertain but expectant, and John found himself reacting the only way he knew how.

"We're done here," he said bluntly. "The incubus is dead, the venom's gone, and Caleb says they got some cattle mutilations five hours from here that need looking into." Despite the pallor of his face, all the earlier tiredness in Dean's eyes was hidden as he gave John his full attention, and John was at least glad to see that he was still listening to him. "I need you cleaned up and ready to move out in thirty minutes."

Dean nodded instantly. "Yes, Sir."

If it had been Sam, there would've been more questions - _how many cattle mutilations? which direction are we going? why can't Caleb go himself?_ \- but for the first time, John started to think that Sam's questioning would've been better than Dean's wordless obedience as he watched his son ease himself out of bed, trying to mask his pained grimace when he sat at the wrong angle.

He was still naked, and John turned away to focus on packing up the last of his clothes, purposefully avoiding the sight of Dean and of the mess that they'd made in the bed.

He'd learned how to lose himself in his work after Vietnam, after Mary, and after Sam's departure, and when he heard the uneven shuffle of footsteps as Dean limped to the bathroom, he knew it wouldn't take much to lose himself again after this.


End file.
